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The next video shows the five men leaving at eight thirty. The valet is different, part of the evening shift. Anatoly and Konstantin smoke while they wait. When the car arrives, Konstantin tips the valet.
“We took them to Illumination for vodka.” The infamous Russian strip club, a laughably thin front for the Russian mob. Of course, Anatoly has video surveillance from there, and I watch as all five men enter the club a little before nine.
The drive times line up so far. There’s no chunk of minutes missing.
“We stayed until after two in the morning. I remember, because on the drive back, I heard the news about the crash in the park.” He also has video of five tipsy men laughing as they puff on cigars and climb into Anatoly’s Lexus. Time stamp: 2:37 a.m.
“Konstantin and I dropped off our guests at their hotel—”
“Where?”
“The Ritz.”
“Of course.”
“—and we went to Konstantin’s home.” The last video is from a home surveillance camera at what looks like the townhouse across the street from Konstantin’s Georgetown walk-up. The Lexus pulls up, and Anatoly and Konstantin climb out. They’re moving slower, and they smoke before going inside at 3:23 a.m.
“I stayed for an hour and then left.”
The final video shows Anatoly driving away at four thirty in the morning. He leaves the video playing.
“And Konstantin stayed home until you came to arrest him this morning. He went nowhere else. You see, he was with me all day yesterday. There is no time for him to have even thought about whatever you are charging him with.”
“This is pretty fucking convenient.” I glare at Anatoly through my sunglasses. “You know, I’ve lost count of how many times you guys have tried to pass off phony video surveillance as authentic. We always find out. You’re not that good at it.”
“This is not fake. It is real, all of it. You can go to the St. Regis yourself. And Illumination is waiting for your call. They will confirm.”
“Of course your Russian bar will confirm your story, Anatoly. It’s beyond believable that every move of Konstantin’s yesterday is recorded. It’s like you knew he’d need an alibi.”
“In my line of work, we need alibis every day. If I am not trying to hide, I keep myself out in the open. You never know when some federal agent is going to accuse you of something you did not do.”
“Cute.”
I run my tongue over my teeth. Glance at Sheridan. He’s biting his lip so hard I can see a bruise forming. He’s also skull-fucking Anatoly with his glare. It seems my sunny Sheridan has packed it in. Has he given up pretending? Is this the real Sheridan I’m seeing?
“Is this fingerprint inside someone’s home all you have on Konstantin? What if he was paying a friendly visit? Surely you didn’t arrest him based on that alone. This is America, after all.”
“This wasn’t a friendly visit. He trashed the place. Tossed it from floor to ceiling, looking for something. His print was on the light bulb he unscrewed on his way in.”
Anatoly tips his head back and laughs. His shoulders shake, and he raises his hands to his temples, cursing in Russian for a full minute. “Reese, you are far smarter than that. You know that is not Konstantin’s print!”
“I know what I know, Anatoly. It’s Konstantin’s fucking print. Hell, even your embassy confirmed it.”
“Think!” Anatoly snaps. “Why would Konstantin, one of the best operatives I have ever worked with, leave his fingerprint behind? Especially if he was breaking into the home of one of your agents. My man is not so sloppy.”
“Everyone makes mistakes. I don’t need to explain why he did what he did. All I need to do is show he was there.”
“He was not there.” Anatoly holds out the phone with the videos. “This is for you. All the videos are on it. Give it to your FBI and let them dissect the footage. They will find it is authentic. Konstantin is not your culprit.”
“Then why is his print there? We know the break-in occurred yesterday after ten a.m.”
But where did that information come from? Sheridan is silent beside me. He’s not contributing anything to this conversation. Not helping in any way.
“I have never sent him to break into one of your agents’ homes. I swear. I think, instead, Konstantin is being set up. Perhaps by someone with a grudge against him, no?”
My gaze flicks to Sheridan again. He shakes his head and turns away. I lose sight of him when he paces to the other side of the SUV. A moment later, a fist slams into the vehicle’s reinforced steel paneling once, twice, three times.
When I turn back to Anatoly, his expression seems to say, See?
